


Midnight

by a-mild-looking-sky (aronnaxs)



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/a-mild-looking-sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midnight, Starbuck by the mainmast, Ahab on his quarterdeck, in the eternal wake of the white whale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

_(Starbuck by the mainmast)_

‘’How many stars have observed our passageway through these untamed seas? I feel as the meagre snail may – moving amongst a world always much larger than his tiny self, a miniscule needlepoint in the patchwork weaved around him, unable to travel any more speedily. Not a noble creature; he is no glorious eagle, no wild stallion so revered in the hearts of the gallant, no mighty lion, yet he is infinitely wise – for he is intimate to all that surrounds him. He wanders it too languidly to not immerse himself in all its secrets. Though he does not have any notion of how some would crave such wisdom. He is blissful in his ignorance of those matters of the heart, of ambition, of lust and envy, and he does not fret that he cannot change his world.

Oh, I cannot profess such things. They are of the utter absurd. Any man who I should hear uttering such babble on the land I should instantly and silently denounce, avoid his blathering presence. It is these nights – I have stood amongst so many, stood upon this deck in times so numerous that I feel I could be a strange extension to this mast. I have rested against her as one may lean on a favourite armchair; my hands are imprinted on her, a marked space where a fevered brow presses.

And how she shudders! Such a pity I feel for her that drags deep each time I walk these weary planks. She suffers at his hand, is beaten by wicked winds, the water that gurgles in her wake is tainted by devilish poison. All the wrath of God, all these awful portents, she faces – sails into them with a course designed to wound her. She is no more a vessel to carry savages into wild oceans but a martyr. What blasphemous royals dare to kiss such holy lands of heaven? Yet it is not her blasphemy – for what blasphemy can the soul of a ship commit? – no, it is the blasphemy of her infallible dictator.

She must obey him. Though he would drive her upon rocky shores, push her into the mouths of maelstroms in his terrible quest, she must succumb to his orders and his guiding hands. She cannot act without him. Her sails would be but sheets of canvas that fluttered in random winds without his calls to make them billow and fly. Her frame would be but a stationary wooden model, an oversized child’s toy, without his hands to make her move. Without him, she would need no try-works, no cabins, no look-out…She needs him and though she could be the shell in which we are dragged to the depths, it will be he, only he, who makes her –

I speak as though he commands the waves. I dread that the eyes of the crew speak of such awe that they believe this is true. They are blind – a damned ship manned by an unseeing band of savages with so little of a mother’s touch in them. And enchanted by the hellish will of a madman, begetting their wildness! Oh mercy, it makes me tremble so.

I shall not fall under such an evil spell. Yet, still, even as he sets out a path through all the circles of hell and curses his men to a merciless death, I obey. I am tied to him and cannot cut the cables – and so, I walk, a pallbearer, for this ship and this good crew… I feel I share in her sufferings. But she must obey, she is a vessel that cannot wilfully rebel – I have the mind to – the tools – the means. Yet I do not have the heart. So I bow to him, my sails shiver in his horrible typhoons, I am his helm, the ropes he pulls. He commands me, bends me, moulds me and plants the force in me that makes me help him follow this white phantom! Oh, my Captain!

It is terrible thing to hate – a sin, my Lord, it hurts me more deeply than it shall ever hurt him – but to hate with a touch of pity! For this obsession – I know not what else to call it – it tears him inside, boils and coils, and is a curse upon his very soul. I should wilt and crumble had I been damned with such horror. No, I cannot compare myself alongside him. With each mile, he brings us closer to white death and I have not the courage to stand in his way. Such a man I cannot help but hate so terribly… And I…his servant. What words can I speak for myself?

The matters of the heart run even deeper than these silent waters. They are one man’s blessings, they are my burden. What if I were ignorant to the changes that my hands upon a gun could bring? I am a sinner, harbouring hatred and imaginings of mutinous murder…Oh Lord, do not leave me. My strained heart can barely withstand the storms anymore–

_(He weeps silently against the mast, trembling in the gentle breath of the wind)_

I weep – for what reason, I cannot tell any longer – and yet still I cannot raise a hand against this madness. My soul is weighted awfully. I am in Purgatory – and these stars are my celestial jury.’’

_(Ahab emerges upon his quarterdeck)_

‘’I feel not this cool night, nor those that have passed before it. It is an intangible sphere that arcs over me, one that I cannot sense for this thing that has claimed me. Such a deep darkness, lit by this host of a million stars, could once soothe me. Now they are nothing but distant illuminations, a blanket that covers this world, labyrinthine pathways that form ways to the white whale – yet I know not which road to follow. So, damn ye stars, I shall set my own, paved with fire, grooved for my maddened soul – unerringly I rush, ever on, ever on.

This savage crew – they are bound to this road – they cannot move me unless they swerve themselves. Our paths shall interlink – we sail under the same sails, the same billowing wind – ah, they cannot escape this iron route!

Avast! Starbuck stands yonder once again. He is the product of a rebellion that cannot bear anything desirable for his wounded spirit. He is mine, a cog to fit my wheel, a bird in a cage. He may have delusions of freedom within the furnishings of his entrapment, memories of past times but alas, the bars are the frame of this ship. The world beyond acts as a mocking plain, an unreachable aspiration.

Oh Starbuck, why must you weep over such a fruitless quest? Thou shall be run down on our unyielding tracks. Thy rebellion, my iron way, shall lead to the same end – the white devil – Moby Dick, though you believe he is out of all worldly grasps. You think he is merely what I see beyond the bars. Ah, Mr Starbuck, I am no bird in a cage! Nay, I command these heavens – those that I cannot feel upon my brow – and my eternal wake is my sole comfort. We never cease, not even if all time should crumble around us.

He thinks me mad – but what judge can decree such a thing on an ocean so vast and removed from life? Thou suffers like a martyr, Starbuck – is that the delusion to keep thee sturdy in my wild seas?

My home, Mr Starbuck? Those are the words thou speakest to me. It is naught but a blank space until Moby Dick spouts black blood and rolls dead out! Thou must not weep for such memories. Ah, he turns to me now, as if he can feel the words I speak of him. He trembles as though he suffers in an endless storm. His lips move in silent prayers – oh, Starbuck, there is no Lord that hears thee now. I am thy God. Thou cannot obey two masters.’’

_(Silence, Starbuck watching his Captain, back against the mast, a tangle of warring thoughts in his eyes. The bells for the change of watch ring out. He runs. Stubb appears, talking merrily to himself)_

‘’Ah, Mr Stubb, the stars have changed their picture again! Why, how do they suppose I can resume by count? But oh – is there tension in the air this night! It is almost as if I step into a theatre of bitter conflict. Ha, Mr Stubb, stop your blathering now and light your pipe. Let us blow away these unsavoury winds and fill them with something sweet. We’ve a long night ahead.’’


End file.
